


The Worst Argument

by Kate88



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: During Troubled Blood, Gen, Missing Scene, Robin Ellacott is reckless, Shouting Strike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27455143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate88/pseuds/Kate88
Summary: Robin and Strike's missing argument.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott & Cormoran Strike
Comments: 17
Kudos: 48





	The Worst Argument

**Author's Note:**

> I've spent the weekend in bed with a diabolical cold, thinking about missing scenes and un-had conversations in TB. So here's one, written to satisfy my curiosity about what and how they could speak to each other to qualify as their worst argument and to address my pathological fear of an exclamation mark.

Robin took a deep breath before walking into the inner office, bracing herself for the argument she’d known that morning was inevitable. It was going to be bad, she knew, but it would be worse to say nothing. She couldn’t get the expression in Luca Ricci’s eyes out of her mind. She was almost certain that she’d gotten away with it, but there was a flicker of doubt lingering in the pit of her stomach, just enough to encourage her to tell Strike what she had done. 

“Okay” she said, opening the office door and affecting what she hoped was a practical, business-like attitude.

“Sit there and don’t say anything ‘til I’m finished.”

He leaned back in his chair, frowning at her. 

“I went to see Ricci.”

They stared at each other. Robin’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. She’d expected, and would have preferred, an immediate reaction. 

“Did you..?”

“I heard you” he said shortly. A muscle in his jaw was twitching.

“I went undercover, obviously. Hair, contacts, accent. Called myself Vanessa Jones and said I was there to see Enid.”

The muscle was still working. 

“Mucky’s not capable of telling us anything. He couldn’t do much more than groan. I _think_ he recognised a couple of the names I gave him, but we’re definitely _not_ going to be able to interview him properly.”

Weighty silence hung between them.

“There’s something else” she said, refusing to be cowed by his clinical gaze. 

“Oh yeah? What’s that then?”

His voice held a shadow of the darkly amused tone with which he’d spoken to Oakden.

“Luca Ricci. He found me in Mucky’s room. He believed I was Vanessa but still…I thought you should know.”

There was a pause, in which all Robin could hear was the blood rushing in her ears. Then, quite suddenly, he stood from his desk and strode into the outer office. There was quiet for several long moments until, from nowhere, a loud thump. Following him out, she deduced from his clenched fist that he had slammed it down on Pat’s desk.

“Cormoran-”

“No” he cut her off. 

“Let me check I’ve got this right.”

He fixed her with a cold look.

“You interviewed Mucky Ricci- the bloke responsible for the production of films featuring women being _gang-raped and murdered_ \- on your own. Without telling anyone where you were, or what you were doing.”

She met his gaze steadily, stealing herself against the familiar sensation of being a child in trouble.

“And as if that’s not bad enough, the former gang leader’s son- the one who we know has a proclivity for tossing acid in unsuspecting women’s faces- finds you interviewing dear old dad.”

He looked at her, as if expecting her to explain, to justify, to apologise. When she didn’t, he continued.

“So there you are, in a room with two members of a family that Shanker- fuckin’ _Shanker_ , Robin- won’t have anything to do with. And you did all this after I’d specifically told you not to.”

“Don’t patronise-”

But he was talking over her, his voice raised.

“What the _hell_ were you thinking?”

“I don’t think-”

“Well that’s perfectly bloody obvious” he said with a snort. “What don’t you think? That he recognised you? That he won’t work it out if he gets even a _hint_ of what you were up to? That you haven’t just brought violent organised crime bosses to the agency’s door?”

“Don't you think that's a bit over-dramatic?”

The fist slammed the desk again and she rolled her eyes.

“Your picture’s been in the papers and Luca Ricci isn’t bloody stupid.”

“Cormoran, we needed to rule him out. You know we did.” 

“We would’ve found another way.”

“How? We’d already established that you’d be bloody useless.”

He flinched, and she fought hard with an instinctive urge to apologise. She was right. She knew she was. A job had needed doing and she’d done it. Just like he had done on multiple occasions before. 

“You promised you wouldn’t.”

“No. I didn’t. Just like you didn’t promise anything to Greg Talbot.”

“We decided-”

She interrupted him with a laugh that sounded harsh, even to her own ears.

“ _We_ didn’t decide anything. _You_ handed down a diktat and expected me to fall in line!”

“And you think I’d tell you something like that for the hell of it, do you?”

“I think you’d tell me something like that because you think I’m not capable of looking after myself when I am.”

“Oh yeah? Tell that to your arm. And Raphael Chiswell.”

“Will I tell it to my two black eyes whilst I’m at it?”

It was a low blow. His jaw clenched again, but when he spoke, he ignored her jibe.

“How can you be so reckless? How can you not _think_ of the consequences of your bloody idiotic actions?”

They were staring each other down; him on one side of Pat’s desk, her on the other. It had been her desk for years. He’d poured her whisky as she’d sat at this desk. He’d told her about Rokeby, his mother and Charlotte here. He’d called her his best friend. She'd never argued like this with other best friends.

“And you’re never reckless, are you?”

“I think about the risks I take. I manage them properly.”

“Stop being so bloody sanctimonious!”

“I’m not. I’m just sayin’ it’s different-” 

“So it’s okay for you to take risks, but not me? That’s hardly fair is it?” 

“DON’T BE SO FUCKIN’ CHILDISH!”

Robin crossed her arms. He had never, not even when he’d sacked her, raised his voice the way he was doing now. From nowhere, she found herself wondering if this was a side to him that Charlotte Campbell would recognise.

“It’s not about fair! It’s about not endangering the people who work for us. Barclay. Hutchins. Their wives. Their kids.”

“Corm-”

“It’s about me not telling your fuckin’ family that you’re _dead_ because you think you know better than the bloke who’s been doing this for a third of your life!”

And then, to drive the point home.

“It’s about you not taking a wrecking ball to everything we’ve built here, because you have to prove a fuckin’ point. Again.”

“You can’t bring up bloody Brockbank every time _I_ do something _you_ don’t like!”

“It’s a prime fuckin’ example-”

“God! Why the hell’d you bother taking me back then?”

“Funny, I’m myself asking the same bloody question!”

She felt like she’d been slapped and wondered if he’d felt the same when she’d brought up the injuries inflicted on her face.

“These are completely different circumstances.” She spoke deliberately slowly, trying to reign in her temper. “Mucky Ricci is hardly going to be able to disappear into hiding.”

“Luca Ricci-”

“Has no reason to suspect that I’m not exactly who I said I was!”

“Could’ve stuck a knife in your back in broad daylight.”

They had spoken at the same time, glaring at each other.

He sighed heavily, shaking his head and running both of his hands ferociously over his face. For a wild, hopeful second, Robin wondered if he was about to see the logic of what she'd done, and apologise.

“How could you be so fuck-?”

Without waiting to hear the rest of the admonishment, she seized her bag from the couch and stormed out, the window rattling in its pane as the door slammed behind her.


End file.
